Slow Motion
by TheRockNRollBeauty
Summary: When the killed becomes the killer, where does he look for refuge? Kenny is a product of a broken world, and hopes to find solace in his closest friends. Stenny, K2 if you squint. Based on a song by Third Eye Blind, not a songfic.
1. Flesh

_Yay! Hello second SP fanfic!_

_I love writing for Kenny, really. He's a fascinating character. Anyway...this one's kind of angsty, once again I kind of lost myself in the story and forgot I was writing about South Park...I hope Kenny's not too occ. I have longer stories that are more SPish and in character, but they're taking me longer. Be patient! haha_

_Oh, and this is my first time writing Stenny, even if its brief and one sided..yay?_

_Enjoy, you bastards!_

**Humor 1: Flesh**

There was this woman who taught me English in ninth grade. Ms. Jones. She was nice. She treated us all with respect. She was pretty hot too: a total MILF. Naturally, she was already hitched. Still, she treated me real nice like, even though she didn't want to get me in bed. That was definitely a first.

She had a son. Clarence, this little messed up shit of a sophomore who thinks he's this little fucking gangster bitch and flips people off and laughs and swears and smokes and tries to hide the fact that he's a skinny little white fucklord. I liked Ms. Jones all right, but Clarence fucking pissed me off.

Ms. Jones had a son. I say had because she doesn't have one no more.

The little shit bought off me quite a few times, but even when he was paying me money he pissed me off. I mean, I had recently graduated into harder stuff; but no, he still wanted to smoke regular pussy shit.

Last time he didn't have 'nough money, so being the nice kid that I am, I let him have a loan. Weeks passed though and he still hadn't paid. He was starting to avoid me, which pissed me off even more than normal, but I let him take his probably thought it was just 'cause of my good grace, but really, deep down, I was still the same money grubbing poor bastard, and there was no way I would let him get away with ripping me off.

One day, my patience snapped and I snapped his wrist as I cornered him behind school, and told him to meet me with the money before sunset or I'd break his arm or kill his family or some of my typical empty threats. This time, though, I might have meant it. He really pissed me off that fucking much.

I met him at a vacant lot on the edge of town, a cracked stretch of abandoned concrete foundation surrounded by a mess of ice covered brush. I knew this place pretty well. Before, this was where me, Stan, and would come to smoke, on those kind of crisp, arid summer days that this town tended to get during the hotter months. I had always loved that taste.

I got their first, cracking the blackened, dusty ice under my snow boot. Some water squished out from underneath it. I stood in the center of the lot, hand in my pockets, head cocked back all the way, looking up to the sky. A strand of blonde hair brushed against my lips.

I blinked the cold out of eyes and watched the glowing red light of the sunset touch on the clouds. Sunsets were nice.

I heard a crunch behind me. I brought my eyes down from the sky and turned around to see Clarence standing a good few feet away. I lazily noticed that I hadn't heard him coming.

Just looking at him again made me mentally vomit. What a fucking tool.

He was pale, skinny, and short, but he wore the fucking basketball shorts that all the douchebags wear that hang around their hips, with the knee high socks and oversized hoodie and wifebeater. I saw his tattoo of some indeterminable asian letter on his chest. I remember the bitch showing it off. He'd got it with his fucking dad.

I snorted. There was no way I was going to pretend I liked the kid. He was a bitch, and he deserved to know it.

"Hey asslicker," I held out my hand, "You got my fucking money, Clarence?" I slid my other hand into my pocket as casually as I could, making sure Clarence didn't notice it. My fingers touched briefly on the handle of the switchblade in my jean pocket.

"I'm not paying you, Kenny." His hands were shoved firmly into the front pockets of his hoodie. He glared at me, biting his lip, trying to intimidate me. Intimidate _me_? Oh, the stupid cunt.

"Excuse me?" I slipped my hand around the knife handle and readied myself. If he was going to keep being a bitch, he was going to see that Kenny McCormick doesn't fucking fuck around.

"You heard me." He bit his lip and stared up into my eyes. Did he really think his stupid threats would make me stop? I rolled my eyes.

"Right, Clarence. Do you want me to break your other arm too?"

I pulled the knife from my pocket and flicked out the blade. I heard Clarence let out a whine and saw him flinch. I smiled and advanced on him.

"No, boy, you're going to give me my fucking money right here and right now."

Suddenly I heard a click and saw Clarence shakily draw something glinting metal from his jacket pocket. He leveled the pistol up to my height and aimed at my head.

I looked at him pityingly, keeping my knife held in my hand.

"Are you serious, man?"

I pointed to the gun. He was a moron. pulling a stunt like this. I was going to mock him for all he was worth.

"Y-yeah." He was trying to gain his composure back.

"I know. I kill you, you come back, the you find me. You think i'm that stupid?" He grinned shakily at me.

"Too bad I'll be long gone by the time you come back," he cocked the gun, "R-right after I finish here, I'm gone."

I shifted my weight from my right to my left foot. I eyed him coldly.

"You think I won't find you, dude?" The venom in my voice was tangible. Clarence was beyond just pissing me off now. I shook my head. "No, bitch, I ain't going to die today, that's for sure."

Clarence laughed shrilly. He was scared. I could tell. But he still leveled the gun at me and put on the facade like the little tough guy wannabe shit that he was.

"You're never going to find me." He repeated, sounding even more unsure this time.

I sighed, rubbed my head, and held out my hand. "You're sure it wouldn't just be easier to pay me?"

I saw Clarence hesitate, letting out a puff of air; dropping the barrel of the gun. Instantly I launched forward and tackled him around the middle. He shouted in shock, but kept a grip on his gun. I grabbed his weapon arm in my free hand as we hit the cracked concrete. I tried to bring the knife to his throat as I wrestled with the gun but he held onto my forearm for dear life

In the rush of adrenaline I felt myself wrench the gun free but Clarence screamed and shoved himself into me, pushing my body backwards onto the concrete, his aggressive form smothering down on me. My shock and survival instincts instantly kicked in and I felt my finger move against the softness of his jacketed body.

Clarence's chest exploded in my face.

He made a gargled noise of surprise as his flesh burst into a brightly colored shower. He fell forward onto me, his head smacking on the concrete over my shoulder. His gasping mouth lay right next to me ear, our of the corner of my eye, I could see his rolling back into his head, the pink of his mouth now awash with red-

I pushed the body off and me and scrambled away from it. Clarence twitched for a moment, his legs buckling up underneath him. And then he was completely still, and I didn't hear no gasps no more.

I looked around, my face and body unusually calm, the only bit of panic in my brain stemming from the fear that someone had heard the shot-the shot that I weirdly enough didn't hear-

I pushed myself up from the ground, finding my hand still clenched around the gun in a murder grip. I stuffed it in my pocket.

As I slunk out through the icy brush of the vacant lot I took one and only one glance behind me. Clarence had disappeared into a dark, ragged form in the shadow of the sunset. Only then did I start to smell the stink of freshly killed corpse.

It never hit me that I had really just killed a kid, someone younger and stupider than me. I just kind of numbly stumbled on through the growing night.

_I mean, the bastard owed me money. He should have paid up. It was his fault. _

I had walked what seemed like ages away from the lot when I realized the obvious and looked down at my lower body. Of course. Clarence hadn't just died, all quiet and nice like. His chest exploded. He'd been ripped apart. There was blood splattered all over the front of my parka from where his body had detonated. I had an urge to ditch it somewhere, but if it was found everyone would know for sure, for sure that it was that poor white trash asshole McCormick who shot and killed a poor kid who had _real_ parents and a _real_ job to do in the world. They wouldn't know that he had been an infected little buttonhole.

I couldn't ditch it: it's not like I could hide the gun in my jean pocket anyway. I held the cold gun in my cold hand in the bare warmness of my coat. I didn't know why I was still holding on to this thing. Maybe if this whole ordeal ended with an epic police shootout I could go out in a literal bang.

I ducked behind a bush and quickly turned my parka inside out, feeling lucky that the blood hadn't completely seeped through to the other side yet. Clarence's flesh explosion had seemed bigger than it really was.

Still, his blood had whipped across my hands, so I took a moment to plunge them into the snow, rubbing the melting white all over my hands and scrubbing off the red. I looked around briefly, wary of any potential witnesses, but seeing no one I turned and snatched two compact handfuls of snow and rubbed it into my face. If I had blood on my hands and clothes I definitely had it on my face. I was used to having blood stained into my body: but most of the time, it was my blood. I crushed the snow in my palm and let it crumbled down my face. It served to make my numb flesh and muscle even number.

I sighed and dropped my hands. The snow below me was pink.

I tucked the gun into the inside of my pocket, so that the handle pressed up against my bare body and I slipped back out onto the sidewalk. There weren't people out and about as far as I could see: past sunset on these bone chilling fall-winter nights was enough to keep everyone at home.

I shivered as I felt the biting cold tear in through the thin worn fabric of my coat. The cold gnawing at my brain seemed to dull the shock that I had felt after Clarence exploded. I started to think clearer. Someone was sure to have heard the shot and they would eventually find his body. I didn't think anyone had seen me leave the lot…but I couldn't be sure of that. I couldn't risk getting caught out in the open air or even at my own house.

_I needed a place to stay._


	2. Saliva

**Ch 2: Saliva**

It took me awhile to realize that my body was taking me to a specific place. My mind was still in shock, and as far as I could remember I didn't make a conscious decision to go to his house. But in a few fortunately siren free moments I found myself standing outside a familiar, dull colored house.

I moaned slightly as I realized my body had unconsciously dragged me into a awkward situation, at the hands of one Stan Marsh. One of my many assorted exes and fuckbuddies.

Stan had taken a dip in faggotry for about two weeks last year. Following his hundredth or so breakup with the Notorious Bitch, he resolved to swear off from women and suddenly decided he liked dick. Of course, this being the white bred redneck town that it is, he had some trouble finding any available. I was happy to oblige though.

But once Wendy came around again and apologized and told him that this time it'd be for real, he dropped things with me and once again firmly lodged himself in the hetero camp.

There was a tree growing up right next to the Marsh house, sidling up next to the wall that led up to Stan's window. I had climbed up and down this same tree so many times that I had lost count. It was a godsend back when we were together. I would make the occasional midnight pitstop, and the blubbering, post-Wendy mess would always be ready and willing for me to do whatever I wanted.

Actually those were probably the most promiscuous weeks of my life.

I lodged me feet in the side of the tree and gradually pulled myself up, grabbing onto one of the outstretching branches and hefting myself up. I stood precariously on the branch that twisted out towards Stan's window, just barely out of the glow of the light inside.

The window was already open, I could see him sitting on his desk, slumped over what was probably a pile of homework. Stan wasn't naturally smart or gifted or anything, but he worked hard. I remember he blew me off a few times during our fling to do homework.

I made the leap of faith from the tip of the branch to the windowsill, swaying a bit before finding purchase on the cold pane. I made sure my feet were planted and my body stable before i looked up.

Stan had turned around in his chair. Obviously I had made much more noise than I had intended. The shock melted from his face and he shook his head.

"Dude-don't fucking do that. You scared the shit out of me."

I gave a half hearted laugh and slipped off the window plane. Without a word but with a slight smile on my face I approached him. He got up and stepped forward to meet me.

"Dude, hey, wha-"

I cut him off and pulled his head towards mine and slipped my tongue all casual like in his mouth. I would've never admitted it to him but his was the only taste that I missed.

I explored every inch of his mouth with relish, not caring that he didn't reciprocate. I was momentarily lost in the ecstasy, and hell if he wasn't just going to take it.

But just as soon as I had started he broke away, grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me back at arms length. A dribble of saliva hung stupidly from my mouth. I licked my lips and looked back at him.

To my surprise he wasn't embarrassed or, as I had secretly hoped, even the slightest bit aroused. He just looked pissed. He wiped his mouth and smeared it on his pant leg.

"What the hell was that?" He growled.

I smiled slightly and licked my lips.

"What the fuck do you think it was?"

"Dude," He rubbed his temples, "I thought you got it. It was just a phase, man. I thought we were cool."

"We are."

"Then what was that?" He snapped. I shrugged and smiled.

He wasn't going to have any of my crap, apparently.

I bit my lip and decided to change my tone as I remembered the real reason I was at his house. That was the real reason, right?

"All right man, all right. Just forget about it. Can you just let me chill here for a bit?"

I kept one ear on the sounds outside, tensing overtime I heard a car screech or a distant siren wail. A lot of them, actually. More than typical on a dead winter night in a quiet mountain town. Which one of those sirens was looking for me?

He must have noticed my shifting and starting because he looked as me suspiciously.

"Why?" He fixed me one of his typical "no bullshit" stares.

I shrugged.

"What? I can't drop by one of my friends's house?"

He folded his arms over his chest.

"If you'd just come over here to hang, then you would've used the door. You only use the window when don't want my parents knowing that you're here or- "He bit his lip and jerked his head uncomfortably, "Well, you know. That."

I rolled my eyes. Was he that weirded out by me that he couldn't even talk about sex?

"Cops are after me." I stated. There was no point in trying to hide _that. _To my surprise, he didn't even look shocked.

"Cops? Dude. Seriously?" He pressed a hand into his forehead. "Are you joking?" He looked at me for verification, I shrugged and gave him a sheepish half smile.

"What the hell did you do this time?" He moaned.

"It's nothing." I sat myself down cross legged on his bed. I sighed comfortable as I sank into the soft mattress. Oh God. Stan's bed.

He seemed tired, because he didn't want to pursue the issue any further. He just shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed, his back facing me.

Why was he being so cold? What other friend would greet him with a full mouthed kiss? I was a fucking saint, and he didn't appreciate it.

I heard him sniff loudly. I could see him turn his head.

"Is that blood." My stomach clenched briefly.

"Yeah. Got hit by a bus earlier today." I lied.

"You smell like shit."

I laughed and slung my arm around his shoulder, all friendly-like. I guess he sensed that, 'cause he didn't flinch.

"So what's up with you?" I didn't mind this, just being friends I guess. It could work, especially given the current situation.

And then I remembered something.

"Hang on."

I slipped off the bed over to Stan's closet. I bent down on all four and scrambled through the dark, searching.

He stayed on the bed, casually trying to look to see what I was looking for.

Finally I found it, and pulled it out. A needle. A bag.

Stan looked at it blankly before it dawned on him, and once again I saw his dazed expression replaced by anger. He pointed an accusatory finger at me.

"Dude!" He gritted it his teeth. "What the fuck? What if my parents had found that crap?"

I laughed and stowed the bag in the pocket on the inside of my jacket. "Calm down. They didn't find it, did they? You're parents aren't the type to pull random drug searches."

"Dude," he put his face in his hands, "Why the hell did it have to be my house?"

"Don't worry, asshole. I'm taking it back to my house."

"Is that why cops are after you? Because of this?"

"I told you, moron, it isn't the smack." I pulled myself up on the bed next to him and casually snaked my arms about his shoulders. My body was moving on its own again-for some reason all the blood and death and adrenaline and gunpowder had made me horny. He muttered something about "how the fuck i could even afford that stuff". Honestly? I wasn't even totally sure.

I glided my hands up the other side of his face and twisted my fingers in his hair. He seemed to relax a bit, which was nice. But after a few moments he started moving under my grasp.

All the tension that had melted away a few minutes ago returned; he pulled his face away and shifted slightly on the bed. I sighed in disappointment and removed my hand.

Stan was silent for a moment, almost as if he'd picked up on something. He looked at me.

"Dude, do you smell gunpowder."

Fuck.

"Uh, uh yeah." I fiddled with the zipper on my jacket and tried to avoid his eyes, "Some asshole shot me today. Was trying to rob a convenience store and I got caught in the way."

"Thought you said you got run over today?"

"S-so? I've died twice in one day before, jackass." I paused for a moment.

"Here," I grabbed his sleeve, "Give me your jacket."

He wrenched his arm back and fixed me with a glare. Jesus. What was his fucking problem?

"Kenny, I think you should get out of here."

"Don't you give a shit about me?" I hissed, "It's just a fucking jacket." He bit his lip.

"Dude. I care about you. But all this-this shit that you're getting into-I mean, I didn't mind when it was just the pot and all, but-"

"So that's it, huh?" I retorted. I wasn't in the mood for some After School Special kind of BS.

"No, dude, I mean-well-"

Oh, if only the bitch knew that it was more than just the hard stuff now-

But all my desire to tell him about the shit that I was waist deep in had vanished. I turned away from the face that I had come to hate in the past few minutes and slunk back towards the window.

"Hey, Ken, wait-"

I ignored him and hefted myself up onto the windowsill. I grabbed onto one of the overlying branches and slung myself onto the customary sturdy bough.

"Dude-" He sounded, close, he must've been at the window. I didn't want to look at him, but I stopped at the sound of his voice anyway.

"I want us to be cool. Can we just forget everything that happened last year?" I heard him sigh. "I miss my friend more than I miss my boyfriend."

I bit back anything I wanted to say to him and stuck out my middle finger behind me before I slipped my way down the tree. I heard the window slide shut and lock before I had even touched the ground.

When my feet found the white of the snow I decided to chance a glance up to the window. He had shut it. Probably locked it too.

I waited for a moment, maybe to see if he would reopen it, or maybe come running through the open door and make some kind of tearful speech and apologize for being such a jackass-

Several moments came and went before I decided to cut my losses. Stan apparently wouldn't have me anywhere near him.

There was a sting in my eyes and a part of me want to sit down by that tree and completely break down, but that pathetic image immediately sickened me.

I knew I didn't want to go home. There was no doubt the cops would check there, if they hadn't already. I didn't want to risk the chance.

I leaned my head back to the foggy blue-white of the sky and breathed out a faint stream-like cloud, feigning cigarette smoke.

_Where would I go now?_


End file.
